Chapter 15

LAUGHTER-LOVING

Selene awoke to a light rap on the door of the hotel suite. She squinted at the silk-padded walls and panoramic windows that surrounded her. When they’d gotten in from the Catskills around dawn, she’d been so weary she’d barely noticed the absurd opulence of Dash’s chosen hideaway: the Four Seasons. Too exhausted by her many brothers’ many absurdities to argue, she’d fallen asleep on one of several plush couches.

Theo, she suspected, hadn’t slept at all. He’d disappeared into the bedroom to work on the final exam he was due to administer later that day. He must’ve already gone up to Columbia and back, because she could hear the shower running in the marble bathroom.

Still prone on the couch, she peered blearily out the window at the glittering skyline before giving up on telling time by the moon and checking the digital clock on the cable box. Five in the evening. She’d slept for nearly ten hours. Another tap on the door, slightly more insistent. Then a warm coo like a dove’s trill, at once sensuous and playful.

Selene sat up with a curse. She remembered that sound. Laughter-Loving Aphrodite must be standing in the hall. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and ran a hand over her tousled hair, wishing she’d woken up early enough to follow Theo’s example and wash some of the soot and sweat from her body. She’d never cared what her brothers and uncles thought of her appearance, but she couldn’t stand seeing the ever-glamorous, ever-youthful Aphrodite gloat at her decline. As another warm chuckle floated through the door, Selene picked up the phone on the end table and rang Flint’s room down the hall. “She’s here,” she said. “Don’t you dare leave me alone to deal with her.” She didn’t wait for his response.

She opened the door to a young man with bleached blond hair staring at his cell phone, chuckling at something on his screen. On the ground beside him sat a massive Louis Vuitton suitcase. He looked up after a moment, caught her staring, and gave her a frank grin. “Don’t feel bad, Huntress,” he said, his accent faintly French. “No one recognizes me without the …” He gestured to his conspicuously wingless shoulder blades with his thumb, then held out his hand to her. “Call me Philippe.”

Last time she’d seen Aphrodite’s son, Eros, he’d been a winged child, carrying around a tiny bow and shooting love-arrows at anyone who looked at him wrong. This tall, slender young man looked no older than sixteen and exuded a coy sensuality far more delicate than Aphrodite’s blatant eroticism. But he had his mother’s soft pink cheeks and—of course—a cupid’s bow mouth. If he’d inherited anything from his father, Mars, it was the gleam in his gray eyes—not violent or brutal, but piercing nonetheless. Defying the winter weather, he wore sky blue pegged trousers and a tailored jacket over a pinstriped shirt of pink and yellow. In the hall behind him, a large window looked out onto Park Avenue’s sparkling wreaths and twinkling trees, making Philippe look like an Easter pixie who’d stumbled into a Christmas diorama. His only concession to the season was a voluminous cashmere scarf looped multiple times around his neck.

Selene wondered what had happened to his feathered rainbow-hued wings. None of the possibilities were pleasant. She ushered him inside the suite just as Flint appeared from the room next door, hobbling on a single crutch. He saw Philippe’s large suitcase, lifted it in one massive fist, and followed them inside without a word.

She found herself standing awkwardly between Aphrodite’s bastard son and her oft-cuckolded husband. Flint dropped the suitcase unceremoniously. She took one look at his lowering gaze and steeled herself for some sort of volcanic outburst. Instead, he opened his arms; Philippe brushed right past her and into his stepfather’s embrace.

“Bonjour, Papa,” he murmured. Flint returned the hug with a brief, fierce squeeze. Philippe laughed and broke away. “I get it! You’re still strong!”

“Don’t you forget it.” Flint clapped Philippe so soundly on the back that the slight youth stumbled forward a step.

“And where is the rest of the family?” he asked. “You promised me une grande réunion!”

“Who can keep track of Dash?” Flint asked grumpily. “I think he’s flitting around with some movie bigwigs.”

“And Paul has some all-important recording session with his band,” Selene said, trying to reconcile this new, affectionate Flint with the surly stepbrother she’d returned with from the Catskills. “But we can get started without them.”

Philippe sprawled across a sofa like a sheik in a seraglio. “How about we get started on some snacks first? The flight from Paris was unbearably long and the food in first class gets worse every decade, have you noticed?” He paused as if actually waiting for an answer.

“No,” Selene said finally. “I hadn’t.”

“Really?” he asked earnestly. “What are you flying?”

“I’m not flying anything. I don’t travel much,” she replied stiffly.

Philippe made a face and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. “Don’t you get bored after centuries in the same city?”

“My city’s never boring.” She felt her customary scowl grow even deeper.

“Oho!” he exclaimed around the cigarette clenched in his lips. “You’re saying Paris is?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Ah! You must come visit.” He lit up, inhaled. “The cafés, the art—”

“I’ve got plenty of cafés and art. I’m the patron goddess of New York.” She’d never actually called herself that before. In fact, she often felt that the city itself was the deity and she just one more lowly worshiper among many. Yet since she’d defeated Orion’s cult, she’d seen it as her duty to protect the inhabitants of New York from the supernatural forces that threatened it. Her neighbors might not pay her homage, but that didn’t make her role as their protector any less real.

Philippe just laughed his mother’s trilling laugh. “You can love two cities at once, you know!” He spread his arms expansively, smoke trailing from his cigarette as if to underline his point. “Love is infinite, whether it be for cities, or people, or—”

“Enough,” Flint grunted. “We know how you feel about it, Phil.” But the Smith seemed more amused than annoyed, and Selene had the distinct impression he’d only stifled his stepson for her sake.

“But Selene doesn’t.” Philippe pulled out his phone and waved it merrily. “Does she even know about my website?”

“Phil works at a dating site,” Flint said, sounding deeply unimpressed.

Philippe pouted prettily. “I own the best dating site in the world. So trust me when I say I know about love.” At that, he turned his attention to his phone and became as instantly absorbed as any other teenager.

Selene glared at Flint. They’d wasted a whole day waiting for someone who could lead them to Mars. She had little faith that this flighty kid would be any use at all in taking down his mighty father. He didn’t look strong enough to lift his own luggage.

Theo emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his waist and his chest still glistening with water. “Oh. I didn’t know we had company,” he said, glancing warily from the young man on the couch to Selene. “And isn’t this a nonsmoking room?”

Philippe craned his neck to peer over the back of the sofa. When he saw Theo, he instantly sat up. Selene didn’t like the way he stared at Theo’s bare torso. She could just imagine the God of Love’s lascivious thoughts. Philippe cocked an eyebrow, looked from Theo to Selene and back, and said, “I don’t live by the rules. And nice to meet you too … Makarites.”

Theo blushed, the color traveling down his throat. “How did you know what I am?”

“I don’t always understand mortals—none of us do—but I understand l’amour. And my lovely aunt here”—he glanced at Selene—“if that’s what you want to call our rather confused genealogical relationship—would never reveal her divinity to anyone unworthy. You must be …” He circled his cigarette as if searching for the right word in English, although Selene suspected his occasional French was purely for effect. His eyes moved back to Theo’s torso before he finally came up with, “Exceptionnel.”

Theo only blushed harder and tucked his towel more firmly around his waist before holding out his hand.

“Theodore Schultz.”

“Theodore means ‘Beloved of God.’ So appropriate.” The corner of his lips curled slowly. Selene wasn’t sure whether he referred to her feelings for Theo or his own. Either way, she wanted to fling the smug smile off his face with a well-placed fist. This, she decided, is going to be a very long night.

You wanted to meet other gods, remember? Theo chided himself as he retreated to the bedroom to get dressed. He yanked on a pair of corduroys and a buttery-soft pine green cashmere sweater that he’d found hanging in the closet. Compliments, no doubt, of Dash Mercer.

He wasn’t used to seeing Selene surrounded by so many men—immortal or otherwise. Of course I want her to reach out to her family, but do they all have to be so damn attractive and charismatic and powerful? Paul could woo an entire audience with a single guitar chord. Flint, who had a frustrating habit of pretending Theo didn’t exist, looked like he could break a man in half just by staring at him. Dash preferred to treat him like a mannequin. Although he does have amazing taste in clothes, Theo thought, catching sight of himself in the mirror. And Philippe … well, there’s one god who’s paying attention to me, Theo admitted. And I sort of wish he wouldn’t.

Stop being an asshole, he told his reflection sternly. If you’re weirded out by them, how do you think Selene feels? She doesn’t like any men, much less the ones she’s related to. If you leave her out there with Philippe any longer, Mars will have one fewer Athanatos to kill. The least he could do was get back in there and help her deal with them. What else am I good for? he wondered. Having learned from Flint that the God of War was likely their culprit, they knew the cult wasn’t just the work of mortals. And Selene had been correct that one of her kin had spilled the secret about Orion’s ritual. So far, in fact, Theo had been right about pretty much … nothing.

When he rejoined the group in the suite’s living room, Selene was sitting across from Philippe, describing Hades’ murder in gruesome detail.

The young man looked grave despite the smear of grease on his chin from the bacon-wrapped scallops room service had delivered moments before. “And you think whoever killed Hades is now after the rest of us?” He looked to his stepfather, who sat staring moodily at the half-empty plate of hors d’oeuvres and said nothing.

Theo perched on the arm of Selene’s sofa and laid a hand lightly on her shoulder. He knew she loathed public displays of affection, but she didn’t pull away. Perhaps she felt the need for solidarity as much as he did.

“The cult already came after Selene,” Theo offered. “You’re all in danger.”

Flint finally spoke. “Phil’s not in any danger. Not from his own father.”

“My father?” Philippe rose to his feet. “Oh no, Papa, when you said you needed my help, you didn’t say anything about Martin!”

“Is that Mars’s alias now?” Theo couldn’t help asking. He knew gods used names that related to their original roles, but “Martin” sounded more like the God of Javascript than the God of Bloodlust.

Flint ignored Theo’s comment, picked up a scallop, and squished it in his fist as if the foam-born goddess were riding atop it. “It’s my fault,” he rumbled before confessing that his wife had somehow wheedled the information out of him about Orion’s cult. “I told her that gods could get more powerful through—” He paused to look at Selene for permission.

She just sighed. “Go ahead. The secret’s out anyway, and Philippe doesn’t look like the human-sacrifice type.”

When Flint had finished describing the cult’s practices, Philippe stubbed out his cigarette angrily. “I’d hoped my father had changed his ways. But this sounds like Martin. Rampaging through the world with no thought for who lies bleeding in his wake.”

Theo’s curiosity was piqued—what kind of filial affection could a God of War and a God of Love possibly maintain? Not much of one, it seemed.

Selene leaned forward, her silver eyes cold. “Are you going to help us find him, then?”

Philippe lifted his head. “Mama wouldn’t want me to,” he said quickly. He flicked a glance toward his stepfather. “She still loves Martin, despite everything he stands for.”

Selene’s lip curled. “Or because of everything he stands for. Passionate rage and passionate love—are they so different?”

Philippe laughed shortly. “Maybe not. Theirs is the one relationship I’ve never understood.” He lit another smoke and took a deep draw, his expression brooding. “Let me propose a compromise,” he said finally. “I’ll take you to my father. But—” He held up a hand to halt Selene’s wolfish grin. “We don’t hurt him until we know for sure he’s the culprit. I owe my mother that, at least. But if Martin is trying to kill Athanatoi, then go ahead and do whatever you want to him. With my blessing.”

Flint looked at his stepson, a fierce smile slashing his beard. “That’s my boy.”

Selene immediately headed into the bedroom and returned with her backpack in one hand and her new golden arrows in the other. “Cults like this don’t wait around. Let’s go.”

The Smith shook his head. “We can’t just rush in there without a plan.”

Selene lifted her arrows. “This is my plan. You bring your hammer. We’ll be fine.”

At the thought of Selene confronting Mars with her usual recklessness, Theo nearly choked. “We have to at least wait for Paul and Dash.”

“Your mortal is right,” Flint said with a sagacious nod. “We should wait for the others.”

I have a name of my own, Theo thought. He was liking Flint less and less.

“We shouldn’t underestimate Martin,” the Smith went on. “Trust me. I know my half brother.”

“He’s my half brother, too,” Selene said testily.

“You share a father. So what?” said Philippe. “Almost everyone shares the same father. It’s the mothers who count. Thank Kronos. Or should I say, thank Rhea?” He leaned across the coffee table toward Theo. Despite his chain-smoking, his breath smelled of chestnut trees in bloom, musky and rich, and just a little like semen. “If I took after my father, I’d be sticking my spear into everything that moved. And I wish I meant that in a sexual way.”

Flint ignored the interruption. “If we show up unannounced, he may let one of us in, but once he’s accused of murdering Hades, who knows what he’ll do? We should have as big a force as possible if we’re going to confront him directly.”

“What about the Wine Giver?” Philippe asked, popping a final scallop in his mouth. “Isn’t he around?”

“No,” Selene and Theo said at the same time.

“We’re better off without him,” Theo explained quickly. “Unless you want to spend the next week in a drunken coma. Trust me.”

Philippe shrugged. “Too bad. He and I always worked well together. He always loosens things up.” As he moved toward his luggage, he slid a glance at Selene. “Don’t you think?” He pulled out a pair of silk lounge pants. “A little loosening sounds like just the thing.” He moved a step closer to her, his smile coy. “You look like someone who could use a drop of the Wine Giver’s gift right now. So tense!” With his fingertip, he brushed her cheek, her neck, and her wrist in quick succession.

Theo jumped to his feet. He wasn’t sure whether he should save Selene from Philippe or vice versa, but he knew something very bad was about to happen. He held out a hand to draw her away, but she ignored him.

“Why am I not surprised that you’re trying to ply me with alcohol, Philippe?” Selene snapped. She looked angry and flustered and defiant all at the same time. “Is that what you do to all the girls? Is that why you’re such an expert on love? You give a woman enough of the Wine Giver’s miraculous potion so that she’s about to pass out, and then you can do whatever you want to her. She wakes up drunk and alone, not even remembering her violator’s face.” She glared down at the shorter man. “So muhr-cee, Philippe,” she said, pronouncing the French with an exaggeratedly terrible American accent. “But I don’t need any wine. And I don’t need any of you.”

Silence.

“Okay!” Theo clapped his hands. “Everyone’s probably very tired.” False, he knew. Selene, at least, had slept all day. But considering the situation, platitudes seemed safest. “Why don’t we all turn in, and we’ll regroup in the morning once Dash and Paul grace us with their presence.”

Selene disappeared into the adjoining bedroom without another word and slammed the door behind her.

Flint just shook his head at Philippe, clearly disappointed, then hobbled silently into the hallway.

Philippe sighed, looking genuinely chastened. “I am the original enfant terrible, aren’t I? I didn’t mean to be so rude, but sometimes my nature gets the better of me. She is very easy to piss off, no?” He put a hand on Theo’s arm and gestured toward the adjoining room. “You sleeping with her tonight?”

Theo nodded, wondering if Philippe knew Selene could hear everything they said.

“The Goddess of Virgins?” He air-kissed his own fingers appreciatively.

“I’m sleeping with her. I’m not … uh … sleeping with her. At least not, you know, completely.” He wasn’t sure why he’d just revealed the details of his stilted sex life to a teenager he’d just met, but sometimes the gods were a bit hard to resist.

Philippe raised his eyebrows in surprise, but Theo couldn’t help feeling he was just being polite. Of course Selene wouldn’t lose her virginity to a mortal after she’d held on to it for three thousand years.

“Must be … hard,” Philippe went on with a sly smile, brushing Theo’s wrist lightly with the tip of his finger. Theo was a little taken aback by the crass double entendre. He was even more unsettled by the response in his own body. Philippe’s smile only widened, as if he knew exactly what was happening inside Theo’s pants. The God of Love took another step toward him so his face hovered an inch away. “I’m not sure how she resists,” he whispered in Theo’s ear. “A handsome Makarites like you, I’d have you in my bed in a heartbeat.” He kissed Theo lightly on the cheek, bid him a cheery, “Bonne chance!” and headed into the suite’s other bedroom. Slightly dazed, Theo got a much-needed glass of water from the bathroom. He was on his way to join Selene when Philippe stuck his head back into the living room. He was shirtless now, his narrow bare chest as smooth as a child’s. “You know where I am if you need anything.”

Selene lay propped up in the oversoft king-size bed, angrily tossing gratuitous satin throw pillows across the room, and listening to everything happening in the sitting room.

Theo opened the door, shut it behind him, and locked it for good measure before turning to her with a look of stunned bewilderment. “You heard?”

“Of course I did. And Philippe knows it. Deliberate provocation.”

“It’s not that bad. If I don’t mind when a man hits on me, why should you?” he asked.

“His gender isn’t the issue,” she snapped. “But it’s the worst sort of disrespect for him to steal you from me.”

Theo laughed lightly and sat beside her on the bed. “He’s not stealing me. He’s just trying and failing. I don’t even think he was serious.”

“But you’re attracted to him. I can smell it on you,” she said, not bothering to hide the accusation in her voice.

“I’m attracted to you. I’m always attracted to you, remember?” He sounded more exasperated than appreciative. “But you’re right that Philippe does have a knack for guiding my mind right into the gutter. Wait a sec …” He narrowed his eyes as Selene felt a rare heat flush her cheeks. “You feel the same way! That’s why you’re in such a bad mood.”

“He’s been smoking the whole time, but the whole damn suite smells like sex instead of cigarettes,” she muttered angrily. “If only he were fading as much as the rest of us, his effect wouldn’t be so potent. But we live in a world where everyone’s either dreaming of finding their one true love or dreaming of sleeping with someone they can pretend is their one true love. The little shit will live forever. But that doesn’t entitle him to take other people’s lovers.”

“Oh, is that what I am?” Theo asked the question lightly, but one look at the glow in his green eyes and she knew he meant it. She opened her mouth as if to respond, then closed it again. Of course you are, she thought. You sleep at my side more nights than not. You feel my body, kiss my skin, touch me in places no one has dared for millennia. But she knew that wasn’t his question.

Theo smiled at her silence and ran a finger along the edge of her jaw. Tonight she could smell his arousal, could feel the waves of heat pouring off his skin. Her own body tightened in anticipation as his lips brushed hers. He backed up just far enough to pull off his sweater; it caught on his glasses, but he finally succeeded in freeing himself from both with a yank. She sat up on her knees, suddenly unwilling to let him go far, and placed her palms on the planes of his chest, feeling his heart gallop beneath her touch. Shocked by her own boldness, she kissed the sweat from his collarbone, then ran her tongue down his sternum. Theo’s breath came deep and ragged as he buried his hands in her hair. Before long, she’d ripped off his pants and her own, desperate to feel more of his flesh against hers. He clasped her tight as they rolled back onto the bed. If she moved her hips another inch, if she invited him in, she’d be a virgin no longer. Paul had urged her to do just that.

For so long, she’d resisted. If she gave up her most precious attribute, would she lose more of her powers? Possibly. Flint used his crutches to maintain his identity, yet other gods had assured her that she had more freedom than she thought. She’d clung to her virginity for so long because it had allowed her independence from the demands of men and family. But now, when sex didn’t equate to motherhood and men didn’t have to mean oppression, could she find a way to lose her virginity without losing her self? With Theo’s mouth hot on her neck, his touch blazing a trail of agonizing bliss across her skin, she was ready, finally, to take that risk.

“Go ahead,” she breathed in his ear, wrapping her legs around his narrow hips.

He clutched her tighter and whispered back, “You sure?”

She nodded.

He pulled back, brushed a lock of sweaty fair hair from his eyes, and met her gaze. “You have to say it again.”

“You’re going to make me think twice.”

“If you’re going to think twice, do it now. Not sure my ego could take it if you want to stop in the middle.”

“I want you. I want all of you. Now.” She spoke with the authority of a goddess, but this was one command she knew he followed of his own free will.

He grinned and rolled off her.

“Where are you going!”

He dashed over to his bag in the corner and started riffling through it. “You don’t want to have any godlings running around in nine months, do you?” He grabbed a foil-wrapped condom out of a pocket. “Sorry, I would’ve done this all much more romantically if I’d known, but—”

A sudden trill of laughter from the living room interrupted him. Philippe. Selene put her hands over her ears, but she could still hear it. Then she remembered the way he’d brushed her cheek, her neck. Damn that little conniving asshole. He doesn’t need arrows anymore. Now his mere touch could inspire lust.

The realization brought rage, her old companion, burning through her body. Her desire collapsed like a mound of ash.

Selene leaped out of the bed and started pounding on the wall. “Stop it!” she screamed. “You’re manipulating me, you pimp!”

“Selene!” Theo hissed, grabbing her arm. “He’s probably just getting a drink of water from the kitchen!” She shook him off.

“No, you don’t understand.” She was still shouting. “I almost let you have me not because I wanted you, but because he made me think I did. And Paul too, with his little digs about love. All these damn men. They’re corrupting me, confusing me, can’t you see? This isn’t me. It isn’t real!”

Theo looked as if he’d been slapped in the face, but she refused to take back the words. “It was real to me,” he said slowly. “I know how I feel about you. Or at least I did—right now I’m not so sure. You’re playing with me. It’s unkind. It’s childish.”

“Childish! I’m three thousand years—”

“Which makes it all the sadder.”

“Don’t give me that look, like I’ve offended you. You’re the one who’s offended me. All you want is sex! You’re no better than the zookeeper.”

He stood there, breathing deep, his face a frozen mask far more terrifying than any expression of anger. He grabbed his glasses, sweater, and pants off the floor and dressed without another word.

“Wait—” she began, instantly regretting her words. He picked up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. “I didn’t mean that last part. Where are you going? We’re supposed to be attacking Martin tomorrow.”

He paused. “Call if you need me.” Then, when he was already out the door, she heard the rest. “But you won’t.”